The Black Lagoon
by SppeedTMX
Summary: This is a story about a motley crew of delivery boys roaming the endless Southwestern deserts. Living their lives as they must, they sometimes have to brush with the law in order to put bread on the table. AU?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Far past Phoenix, where the desert begins ripple into mountain. Deep in within the Southwestern sands of the 48th state were a breakdown might just be death in disguise. Planted right where most would consider the middle of nowhere sits a gas station. One not too big, not too small, but must importantly not too noticeable.

At first glance it just looks like a large shack with cars parked outside. Well that description wouldn't be too far off either. Aging bricks formed the wall and looked as if they would collapse at any moment. Any repair work done, including the roof was simply handled by a wooden plank here or a piece of corrugated sheet metal there.

The four car ports sported no doors, letting the wind and sand blow in freely. The only out of the ordinary component of the garage seem to be the port on the end that was roughly twice the size and width of the other three. But with good reason, a large black semi-truck occupied the space.

It sat on a massive hydraulic lift, necessary if a part needed to accessed from underneath, but today it was relatively untouched. Only one thing needed to be refilled, a simple task that required little time.

The station also possessed a small convenience mart, the interior of which had not seen food in years. It was hot and cramped even though it was missing glass in all of its windows. The desert seemed to be creeping in from every crevasse, filling the store with a stuffy orange dust. Even a scorpion or two were comfortable enough to call this place home as they crawled around the furniture that surround a small coffee table.

At the front of the mart, just underneath an awning was a long wooden bench nestled comfortably up against the wall. One had to be sure to grab a spot with wall behind it otherwise your head would lean through the open windows.

Two men lounged on this very bench, feet kicked up, and cigarette in one's mouth. Both were of African American decent, though the smoker was much more muscular. It was muscle that was equal parts weight training and hard labor. A simply green flak vest was the only thing that covered his torso. With the temperature where it was that afternoon anything heavier would have been too much, as evidenced by the man's cargo shorts and Converses.

His rounded sunglasses threw off a small glint as his popped the cigarette out of his month. He tapped the ashes free before taking another long drag.

The man sitting next to him looked a bit younger and taller than the smoker; he lounged shirtless with his hands behind his head. He too sported shorts, although his were denim. He wore simple work boots as well. There was only one alarming feature on the man, the triangle on his chest. It had been branded on by way of heated metal...

The smoker rubbed his completely bald head for a moment before checking his watch. He frowned.

The other man noticed this and spoke, "Any idea what could be taken 'er?"

The bald man sighed, "Fuck if I know." He grumbled something else before settling back on the bench.

"Dutch," the other man spoke before pausing."

"Hm?" the smoker turned his head toward him.

"You can borrow one of mine." the branded man said sincerely.

Dutch's body shook as he laughed to himself.

The other man raised an eyebrow.

"Much appreciated, but I definitely don't wanna owe _you _anything Stew'" Dutch replied.

"You wouldn't."

Even the eyes hidden behind those dark sunglass were clearly frowning now.

"You may not think so man, but that time you brought me and my car back across the border helped me out of some real tough shit."

"Are you still thinking about that?" Dutch asked.

The branded man nodded, "This guy was in some deep shit man." he said pointing a thumb to himself.

Dutch eyed him for another moment before turning forward again.

"As far as I see it I still owe you. Just say the word and I can have another set of wheels and hands here in minutes."

But older man only waved a hand dismissively at him, "Don't worry about it, as soon as-"

It was faint, but Dutch could hear the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle in the distance.

"Well, there ya have it." Dutch said as he stood up and dusted himself off.

Stew' shrugged as he stood up as well.

Within minutes the motorcycle flew into view, its female rider in quite a hurry as the bike over shot it braking forcing the rider to slide in.

A buffeting cloud of dust hit to the two men as the Yahama came to a stop, the light of its glowing brake disks cut through the smoke.

The female rider was shapely, a painfully obvious fact since she wore no suit. Boots, kneepads, and cutoff jeans that stopped well above her thighs were then only thing covering her legs. While a cropped jacket with full length sleeves covered her torso and arms. Although the upper wear was more than happy to show-off a few well toned abs.

Still sitting on the bike, the woman brought her cropped gloved hands up to her helmet, quickly removing it.

Her semi-Oriental face was just as tan as the rest of her body, and just underneath jacket you could see the beginning of a fierce tribal tattoo jutting out.

"Rebecca?" Dutch asked, immediately noting the frustration on the biker's face.

She spit into the dirt before speaking, "Fuck'n whitewaters." Rebecca started.

"What?" Dutch asked, wanting information

"Two of the little bastards are escorting our mark." the biker continued.

Dutch sighed in frustration, "So how does this get worse?" he asked.

"Besides the fact that whitewaters are around when they aren't fucking supposed to." Rebecca snorted.

"Yes." the bald man deadpanned.

"The whitewaters are drivin' Shelby's." Rebecca paused.

Dutch glared at her.

"Wait, this is the best fucking part, the mark that's supposed to be in one of those Benz SUVs is sittin' in a E-Class with an AMG badge." Rebecca laughed in disbelief.

Dutch stood with a grimace, this straight forward job had just gone from in the bag to cluster fuck in a matter of minutes.

"Stewart, I think I'll be using that favor you owe me." Dutch said.

"Shouldn't be a problem." the other male said with a smirk.

"Might be, I'd like that assistance now if you can manage it." Dutch continued.

"Hmmm." Stewart rubbed his chin in thought, "Let's see who's stilling hang'n around." he replied as he began walking toward the garages.

Dust danced through the open ended car ports as the trio stepped inside. There with no walls separating them except for one that cut off the semi-truck's garage.

In first segment a very low slung car sat covered by a tarp. In between the that and middle port where a barrier would have been sat a couch. It was currently occupied by two, one male, one female, both asleep.

Past the tool cabinets in the third garage was another sporty car jacked up on hydraulics, a station employee tinkering away at something within its suspension.

"Are you fuck'n me?" Steward asked aloud when he saw the two persons asleep on the couch.

"GET UP!" he yelled as he gave the couch a swift kick.

Immediately the female produced a LAR with a crisp, blood red paint job. It waved slightly but stayed aimed in the general direction of Stewart. But her arm fell back to her side when the male who had his arms snug around her waist squeezed once and let a loud snore.

The branded man's temple bulged with rage before he strolled around to the back couch and squatted.

In one swift movement he tipped the seat over, spilling the two onto the floor.

"Shit! Ow, what the fuck." the man, another of African American decent and bearing a strong resemblance to Stewart complained.

The woman, an albino individual with toned curvy form that resembled Rebecca's, if Rebecca showed far less skin. Her sharp red eyes glared at Stewart as she picked herself.

"What the hell was that for!?" the man the look similar to Steward asked in bewilderment.

"What'da ya think nigga? Your sleep'n on my fuck'n couch." Steward fired back.

"Well..." the other man said slowly.

"Whatever. What are you even doing here? I didn't even see you roll in."

The man looked to the pale woman, who shrugged, before he turned back to Stewart.

"I honestly don't know, me and Pricila were hit'n it pretty hard last night." the man admitted.

"So what Darius, I gotta wash the goddamn couch now too?"

"What? No! Fuck you man, we were fucking hammered. We just ended up here." Darius replied.

"Good to now you can still drive when you're drunk off your ass."

"Buzzed, I was just a little buzzed." Darius corrected.

"Whatever, guess who's here?" Stewart said gesturing to the front of the garage.

"Oh shit, hey Dutch." Darius said quickly, dusting himself off as if it would change his disheveled appearance.

Priscila locked eyes with Rebecca, she saw a horrifying smirk from the half-Chinese woman when she instinctively flexed her fingers.

Rebecca's eyes dropped down a few shades, her eyes narrowed...

_I dare you bitch, I would like nothing better than a warm up._

As if Priscila had heard that exact thought she broke her gaze.

"Since you ain't doin' shit here, I need you to run with Dutch here to hit a mark." Steward explained.

"We just got off a job." Darius replied.

"Tough shit nigga, you got time to sleep in my garage you time to do a little work." Stewart said.

"You are the shittiest brother I've ever had."

"I'm your only brother dumbass."

Darius sighed as he turned to Dutch.

"What'da need us to do?" he asked.

"There's a couple of whitewaters covering our mark, all I need you to do is divert 'em." Dutch said as he light up anther cigarette before passing the lighter to Rebecca who light up her own.

"Come on kid, it'll be a fuck'n riot, I know you've butt heads with whitewaters before." Rebecca added.

Pricila tapped his shoulder, and gave him a look only he could see.

"Fine, on one condition." Darius smiled.

Steward raised an eyebrow in question.

"I want to drive that." Darius said pointing to the car with the tarp over it.

Stewart chuckled before fishing a set of keys out of his pocket and tossing them to his brother.

"That's that I guess." Dutch said, "Let's go Rebecca."

"Right behind ya boss man." she replied, while turning to retrieve her superbike.

Behind the station sat a poorly parked BMW M5 and more importantly the semi's custom hydraulic flat bed. It gleamed with aftermarket parts and modification, some less legal than others. Its three axels worth of fresh tires complimented the black finish on the trailer perfectly.

Its easy access ramp fell to the ground with a thunk as Rebecca dropped it. She grunted a bit as she wheeled her Yahama up the incline. But soon enough it was at the front of the flat bed, bolted down.

She gave its gas can a pat, before cursing Stewart for not getting the fuel pumps in front of the station fixed fast enough. She would much ride her bike all the way for this job. In fact...

"STEWART!" she screamed

"WHAT?"

"WHY THE FUCK AREN'T THE GODDMAN PUMPS FIXED!?"

"CAUSE THAT SHIT COSTS MONEY YA STUPID BITCH!"

"DA FUCK YOU CALL ME YA BITCH ASS NIG-...CUNT!"

Stewart's head peered out from inside the garage and shot Rebecca a glare.

"What, I'm half a minority, I get to say half the word."

"You're an idiot."

"Fuck you."

The garage owner shook his head before disappearing again.

"Fuck does he know, I can say nigger whenever I want, bitch." Rebecca grumbled under her breathe when Steward was out of ear shot.

"I HEARD THAT!"

"YOU WANNA DIE STEWART!?"

Dutch chuckled to himself as he heard the loud exchange. The door the side of his semi opened with a beep.

Contradictory to the outside, this black Peterbilt 359 was far from stock. Inside trivial luxuries had been replaced with fictional electronics, rugged equipment and if you were to search hard enough some panels had even been replaced with carbon fiber.

A custom stainless steel bumper guard shielded the front, while towering exhaust pipes and highly durable rims were finished in sparking chrome. "Lagoon Co." was painted in gold cursive lettering on each door.

But what really topped off the sleep semi was its power plant, built completely from the ground up was a quadruple turbocharged V8 diesel engine putting out a highly impressive 800 break horse power out at 1500 rpm. With an insane maximum torque of 2800 foot-pounds, this Peterbilt could literally push traffic out of the way without slowing down.

And that's just how Dutch liked it; adjustable suspension, specially made intermediate treaded racing tires, and 2 humongous 80 lbs. nitrous tanks. The Lagoon company freighter was exactly what it was built to be, the biggest, fastest, most powerful truck on the road. And anyone who thought the opposite was welcome to try and prove otherwise.

"Ben, you're still work'n in here?" Dutch asked the individual who sat in the passenger seat.

Ben nearly hit his head as he unfolded himself from under the dash, he gave his blonde hair a ruffling and Dutch an exasperated sigh as he sat back in his seat.

"Damn systems been bugging me for a while now." he said finally.

"That gonna impact the job where about to handle?"

"Naw, we'll be fine." he reassured Dutch.

"Okay, 'cause a few details have changed." Dutch said with a smirk as he closed the driver side door.

"Don't they always." Ben said with a roll of his eyes. He folded an ergonomic keyboard from under the dash, and pulled two screens from the top. From Ben's left a netbook popped out adding to the semi-circle of electronics around him.

The entire gas station shook as Dutch fired the engines. After readjusting one mirror he backed the behemoth machine out of the port, turning in sharply to the left to recouple it with the flatbed.

It reattached with a loud, satisfying clank. Dutch limbs seemed to blur as he put the truck back in forward gear with mechanical precision. It rumbled forward for a few moments before a loud bang was heard at the rear.

"Let me in cocksuckers!" Rebecca yelled.

"Ben." Dutch said without skipping a beat. A few electronically controlled lock opened, revealing the aftermarket port opening at the back of the sleeper portion. It was about 2 feet by 4 and a half feet, just big enough for their hot headed female compatriot to fit though with haste.

"Fuck you guys." Rebecca said

Both Dutch and Ben rolled their eyes.

The Lagoon Company semi rumbled forward turning in a lazy ark around the garages.

"Whoa, nice car." Ben said.

"Wha?" Rebecca said as she leaned forward to see outside. A bright red Audi glided out of the first garage. The mid-engine supercar seemed to growl as it rolled past the truck, its exhaust kicked up sand and dust as it went.

It pulled up to edge of the road waiting for the semi to take the lead. Dutch wasted no time pulling his truck onto asphalt and speeding away. The report of the Audi's V10 was sharp as it followed.

"So," Rebecca started as she reclined on the cot, "what'da think's on that disk were grab'n?"

"No idea." Ben said, already lost in his digital world.

"Doesn't matter, we snatch it, we deliver it, we get paid." Dutch answered.

"Yeah, about that shit, 20 large? Is that fucking it?" Rebecca complained, "I could blow 20 grand a single bike."

"Well it's a good thing you're not getting all 20 thousand are you?" Dutch laughed.

"Shut up."


	2. Mile 1

**22 Wheels of Steel**

Desert, sand, and more desert, this monotonous road trip was yet another reason why the man staring blankly out the Mercedes window was so tried.

_I barely make into college just to piss those years away studying things I won't ever use. Now it's as if I need to be within this womb of conformity, a salaryman's day for salaryman's pay. I sometimes wonder if it would be more efficient to just kneel all the time with my ass in the air, just hoping that a superior of mine will grace me by kicking it. And all of that just to try and catch the futile dream of being in their position one day, and to no doubt complete the vicious cycle. Nothing changes. You're born, you live, you die. _

_Even here in the middle of this American desert, assisting the high up supervisor, everything remains the same. Why am even going to this convention with him? I've been nothing but a target for his abuse and aggression since the moment I stepped on that plane in Tokyo. Maybe this is all I know for a reason...would I, could I even live without this now? It's so ingrained and so natural now, so predictable. How would I even recognize change at this point? These days, this job, everything seems to blend together into a festering cesspool of the weekly routine. Only now this week involves more sand and cactus, that is the only difference. This here is the only change I've had in how many year-_

"Okajima! Sit up straight!" the gruff but well dressed man barked at the male sitting next to him.

"Yes sir."

"Look at me when I speak to you."

"Yes sir."

"Why are you not wearing a jacket?" the overbearing man asked, emphasizing his point by readjusting his expensive Italian suit.

"I apologize Mr. Soto, the temperature was just a bit-"

"I don't care Okajima. Put on your damn jacket."

"Yes sir."

* * *

The sun dipped closer to horizon with every mile as the monstrous black semi powered down the two lane road. The shadows of the sparse plant life sliced up the asphalt with large jagged lines that danced across the Peterbilt as it passed by.

The interior of the truck was just as dim. Its driver was silent, in an state of pure concentration. The techie sat back in his seat, his hands danced over the keyboards as he checked the semi's systems, the local news, radar pings, and topographical maps all at the same time.

Even Rebecca's slumber on the back cot seemed to under stress of its own, this current section of high way wasn't exactly as smooth as the others.

"Dutch." the Oriental woman moaned.

The driver stayed quite, his eyes glued to the ever darkening road.

"Dutch!"

Still nothing.

"DUTCH!"

"What?" He sighed.

"How far away are we?"

"Not close enough for you to be getting ready yet."

"Fuuuuuuuck, this shit is so boring."

"Sorry to hear that Rebecca." Dutch replied sarcastically.

"I've got something for you to do." Ben said suddenly.

"Great." Rebecca said as she fell back in the cot.

"Beggars can't be choosers." the blonde said before tossing the biker a Bluetooth ear piece.

"I just finished redoing the encryption on our communications. We need to call Darius and Pricila so we can tell them how to access it."

"Fine." Rebecca huffed; she hated having to any nerdy tech shit for Benny.

* * *

The tinted windows of the Mercedes made darkness fall sooner that it had. But despite that, star after star began to appear, shining in the clear night air. Well there was at least one thing to look forward too, Okajima thought: a beautiful Nevada night sky.

Unfortunately the only thing lighter than the stars was the bright white paint jobs of two cars around them. White & Waterson Security Solutions is what they called themselves, quite a mouth full to say really. Apparently they had been hired to escort Mr. Soto during his time here, a precaution that Okajima so far didn't see to be necessary. While the supervisor he was here to assist was very important, was he important enough to warrant protection? He seriously doubted it.

* * *

"'Becca, Ben, you guys ready?" Dutch announced, he gave the sensitive equipment currently strapped to his head one final adjustment.

"Yeah, hold on." Rebecca answered, hurrying to finish her preparations. Her jacket was gone exposing her bustier bra. The styling was militant in nature; it was padded and bulky, but hardly went an inch below her chest. Twin shoulder holsters containing Berettas completed the ensemble as Rebecca sat crossed legged checking over one of the said weapons.

"Why don't you just wear a tank top?" Dutch scoffed.

"Cause that shit don't go with this leather." Rebecca said as she pulled on another jacket. I rather expensive looking cropped leather jacket.

"Eh." Dutch replied with a shrug

"Fuck you."

"We've got about 3 minutes on 'em right now Dutch." Ben announced.

"Hold your shit, let me put on this on." Rebecca growled, as she rushed to attach some addition magazine holding straps to her thighs.

"Darius, we're about to go dark, you ready?" Dutch asked.

"Whenever you are." Darius's voice replied through each of their ear pieces.

"Alright, let's go." Dutch said, he flipped the high powered night vision goggles over his eyes. On queue Ben killed the power.

Night enveloped the semi as everything that produced light was extinguished. The low rumble of diesel engine now emanated from nowhere as the truck blended perfectly into the night sky.

Only puff of exhaust escaped the truck as Dutch shifted up, accelerating to close the gap on the three cars they were following.

Within five minutes their tail lights could be seen. Two blinding white Mustangs surrounded a cold black Mercedes as they traveled nose to tail.

"Dutch." Darius's voice whispered.

"Wait." he commanded.

The Peterbilt crept ever closer, soon the powerful engines of three cars could be heard.

"Dutch." Darius asked again.

"Wait." the Lagoon boss repeated. His hands were vices on the wheel as the massive truck navigated a few tight turns. Dutch's breathe was heavy as he waited, this widow was short, they had to be perfect or the AMG would haul ass outta there. He had to give this behemoth of a truck the advantage.

An advantage that happily dropped itself on his lap; road, mile after mile of straight road ahead.

"Go!" Dutch commanded.

Someone could have easily mistaken the sound for an explosion as the Audi roared to life, its restrictions finally free.

As soon as Darius passed by, Dutch pulled the semi into the opposing lane. The Peterbilt growled as it pulled ahead.

"Rebecca!" Dutch called, and to his satisfaction the only he heard was the high pitch sound of her bike starting.

* * *

"Stay down, Mr. Soto!" the chauffeur shouted fearfully, he frantically tried to find a way out, but they were boxed in.

An entire fucking semi-trailer truck had literally come out of nowhere. And now there guns being fired, fucking shit, things were happening too fast! Hell just seemed to drop out of the sky! They thought the sports car was just another speeder out for a late night joy ride. But-

"What was that?" Okajima froze as the sound of another loud engine.

It was quiet on for a brief moment before the scream of a motorcycle engine ripped through the air. The salaryman could see it's head lights as its bat shit insane rider jumped it of trucks flat bed. Time kind of slowed for a moment as he watched the bike touch down.

The bike wobbled violently for what only a split second before it's rider locked it brakes causing it to gracefully slide side to side until it was back under control.

The sound of a car flipping slapped Okajima back to reality. Still under power the white sport car that was supposed to be protecting them tumbled end over end into desert until is disappeared from sight.

With a few gun shots from the biker the other White & Waterson car was sent spinning into the sand.

"What the hell?" the chauffeur cried before a something slammed into the front of the Mercedes putting out both head lights. Whatever it was had knocked their driver out cold, it was moments later that Okajima noticed the German car's motor was dead, yet they were still moving.

"Mr. Soto!" the salaryman turned to his superior to find he had fainted over the course of the current ordeal.

Okajima frantically tried to wake him up before the sick feeling of weightlessness hit him. For a brief moment the vehicle had been pulled into the air only to land with horrible crash.

With a heavily damaged Mercedes E-Class on the deck of trailer, the now illuminated Peterbilt continued down the road as if a the fight for such a prize had never happened at all.

The moon light craved through the night as the semi made its way across the desert roads. The red Audi now sported a new dent; no doubt its driver would catch hell for that later. What Dutch didn't like was how anxiously his gunner weaved side to side, as if that last skirmish wasn't enough for her.

"Darius." Dutch spoke after several minutes of silent driving.

"Yo."

"You're finished here, I'll treat you to the Flag one of these days."

"Don't worry 'bout it man."

"Alright then, you and Pricila take it easy."

"No problem Dutch, we'll give ya shout if we see ya on the road, later."

A little bit of flame spat from it exhaust as the supercar sped away, a pale hand peeked out of the left window to wave goodbye before the car was out of sight.

"Nice kids those two." Ben commented.

"Yeah, though I plan on being as far away from the west coast as possible when he gets that girl pregnant." Dutch laughed.

"You and me both." Ben added.

"Have you found out why Whitewater was escorting this car?"

"As we speak, but you know how tipped lipped everyone in that company is."

"Yeah...let's just finish this job, Rebecca! Get your ass back on this trailer."

* * *

"Ow, my head." Okajima grumbled when another bump shook him awake. It was still night but the moon was shining, shedding a little light on where he was.

"Oh fuck." he gasped, he was sitting flat bed of the truck that had fallen out of the sky.

He yanked his seatbelt off, and patted himself over. No noticeable injury, yet. Mr. Soto was still out cold, but at least he was still breathing. Thought the seatbelt removal was regretted moments later as a large bump jumped him out of his seat, causing his head to hit the window.

"Hey, are you alright?"

What, who said-

"Are you alright man?" the chauffeur asked again.

"Oh, yeah. What's happening, where are we?" Okajima quickly asked.

"No idea, I can't get a signal on my phone either." the driver answered.

"We need to get the hell out of here." the salaryman openly decided.

"And get shot? Fuck that." the chauffeur argued.

"Then what are..." Okajima's voice trailed off as he felt the semi slow to a stop. He let out an indignant scream as the world tilted backward. The sedan rolled back and slide onto the ground. The semi pulled away only to return several seconds later with its head lights pointed at the damaged car.

"Get out!" a female voice demanded.

Okajima hesitated only for a moment before the door on his side was ripped open and he was yanked out. Lined up with their backs to the car; the chauffeur, Mr. Soto who had finally come to, and the salaryman who was just too far away from home, silently begged for their lives. For they were sure the guns they stared at held little mercy, much like their owners.

"So." started the large black guy holding a revolver, he was wearing a pair of sunglasses even though it was night out, "One of you has a disk we're looking for."

"They know why we're here Dutch, just pop one in the knee and this'll go so much faster." the Oriental woman snarled.

Okajima almost cried, this couldn't be happening. He was being held at gun point for something he knew nothing abou-

"You won't be get these disks so easily you fucking-" Mr. Soto started before a gun shot was heard.

Okajima looked on in horror as Mr. Soto screamed in agony, clutching his shattered leg.

"Really Rebecca?" the black man asked, looking at the woman in frustration.

"What?" she replied feinting ignorance.

The bald man knelt towards the now incapacitated man, patting him down he eventually found 3 hard drive disks.

"Would'ga look at that, there was more than one." he commented.

"Dutch!" a blonde man popped his head out of the truck's window, "Some state troopers have got us on the scanners, we should probably disappear and fast." he shouted.

"Well very sorry to intrude you fine Japanese gentlemen but this," he held up a disk, "this the only business we have you tonight." he said with an emtpy smile, "Now if you would be so kind as to hand over all you electronic devises, we'll be on our way.

As quickly as they could manage, all three men gave up their cell phones.

"I suggest you not try to restart that car as it will more than likely explode, have a good night gentlemen."

Okajima breathed a huge sigh of relief the big man turned to leave. Alive, unharmed, and free. If there was one thing he had taken for granted in his monotonous life it was safety. Never had he-

"What're you look'n all happy for bitch?" the woman asked, her gun still pointed at the salaryman.

"Uh-"

"You're com'n with us!" she demanded before grabbing his collar and dragging him toward the truck.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Okajima cried.

"Rebecca, what do you think your doin'?" the one called Dutch asked.

"A little insurance boss man."

Dutch started to protest before the blonde one interrupted him.

"We should move guys, I just intercepted a transmission from something worse than cops."

"Whitewater." Dutch assumed.

"Bingo, about 75 miles out by my best guess, but boy do they sound pissed."

The black semi roared to life as its driver quickly put it in gear.

_What the fuck? How did this happen!? My abusive, routine, BUT very safe life is getting farther, and father away. Is this because I wished for change? NO, I take it back! Don't make me go with these people, there's no way I'll live. Please, please, God….somebody..anybody?_

* * *

The sky line began to illuminate as dawn showed itself to the Lagoon Co. truck while it motored down the two lane road at a swift clip.

Okajima hadn't bothered to pay attention to where he was going or what time it was. At this moment no one knew where he was, or that he was even gone. He was alone. Well alone with truck full of deranged, gun wielding robbers. He sighed as he lay back against the wall, he needed to find a way to contact someone, and fast.

"So, Rebecca." Dutch voice bellowed after some time.

Instantly the gunwoman's eyes narrowed, "What?" she snapped back.

"Is there any particular reason we have _him_?"

"Come on Dutch, it should be pretty obvious."

"No, it's not. Hence why I'm asking you, _Rebecca_."

"We're only getting 20 grand for this fuck'n job Dutch, 20 fuck'n grand." she said while emphasizing her point by holding up two fingers.

"I'm aware, but you still haven't answered my question."

Rebecca silently sneered as she relined with her back against the wall like Okajima.

"We ain't get'n much for this stupid job, so thought it wouldn't hurt to take a hostage and ask for little ransom." the women replied, confident with her logic.

"So who are you going to contact for that?" Dutch asked immediately.

Rebecca froze.

"How are you going to demand an exchange location without them alerting the authorities?"

Rebecca's smirk fell, her eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"How do you plan on confirming the payment is legitimate?"

Her brow scrunched with rage.

"Who's to say that-"

"FINE! How's 'bout I just cap this asshole now and we leave 'em on the side of the road!?" she yelled at Dutch as she pulled out one of her guns. She blindly fired three shots in Okajima's direction. The Japanese man screamed for his life before the entire cab seemed to lurch backward.

Dutch had slammed the brakes causing an enraged Rebecca to fly forward.

"Don't ever shoot inside my truck." Dutch said to the gunwoman he now had in a headlock.

"I know, I get it...air..." Rebecca coughed before being released.

She flipped the bald man off before sitting back the cot. A tense silence drifted through the truck before Dutch spoke again.

"Hm, I think we need a little pit stop." he announced as the semi began to slow. Its engine rumbled as it pulled into a 24 hour gas station.

"Rebecca go get us some breakfast without picking up a John this time."

The biker only grumbled as she exited the truck through the back port.

"You," Dutch said pointing to the salaryman, "let's go."

Okajima reluctantly climbed out of the truck behind Dutch. He watched silently as the larger man went about refilling his truck before he began absently looking around.

The station was pretty run down, and the smell of gas was stifling. Other semi-trucks seemed to be parked haphazardly about the lot. He began to adjust his tie when Dutch finally spoke.

"Big night, hm?"

"I don't even nowhere to begin." the Japanese man answered.

"Well let's start with a name."

"Ah, oh, my name is Rokuro Okajima."

"Well Rokuro, I guess were gonna have to contact somebody soon."

"Yeah." Rokuro replied with a rather blank stare.

"Look-" Dutch paused for a second, he plucked a phone out of his pocket and stuck it to his ear.

"Hello?"

...

"Yeah, it went off without a hitch."

...

"Whitewater wasn't a problem at all."

...

"Really?...I see...yeah we'll be there tomorrow."

The phone beeped as he ended the call.

"Who was that?" Rokuro thought aloud.

"The client." the ebony man answered before he replaced the nozzle of the diesel pump.

"So, there's a client?" Rokuro sighed.

"Yep, we're just a couple of delivery boys, man." Dutch replied as started towards the flat bed, Rokuro subconsciously followed, feeling as if this guy was the only trustworthy guy in world right now. He watched as the older man hoped onto the deck.

"You might wanna stand back a little." Dutch warned as he kneeled next to panel the near Rebecca's bike.

"Wha- OH SHIT." the salaryman nearly fell down as two jackhammer-like object folded out of the flat almost instantly. A sharp hissing sound filled the air as the two spikes slid slowly down the tracks of the flatbed.

"What are….?" Rokuro said before cutting himself off

"Hm?, oh we call 'em the Javelins, it's how we pop cars right off the road." Dutch explained, "I like to test 'em a little after each use."

Dutch gave steel cable attached to the Javelin a little flick before pressing another button on the panel that brought the piles back.

Despite the situation Rokuro could help but be a little curious, I mean the damn thing looked like it came outta some espionage drama.

"How did it work so fast?"

"The top half of the flat bed doubles as a ramp, it tilts back, pneumatic plungers push the Javelins, and a hydraulic catapult underneath reels 'em in with these." Dutch gave the steel cables a pluck, "It's like car fishing, if you wanna look at it like that."

"How can you have something like this, is that even legal?" Rokuro asked.

"Hell no it ain't, this shit could pick up a bus." Dutch laughed as he jumped off the deck.

"But that's in the job description, sometimes we have to brush with the law in order to bread on the table." Dutch said solemnly as he pulled out a cigarette. He offered one to Rokuro who accepted it hesitantly.

"Yeah, I suppose so." Rokuro replied, his tension waned a little as the poisonous gas entered his lungs.

They stood and smoked at the front of the semi until Rebecca returned with food and her usual amount of pissed off. Her fist had a tiny bit of blood on it but neither Dutch nor Rokuro decided to mention it.

The desert scenery began to change as the sun peeked over the horizon. Other cars started to increase in number as the road expanded. The lull of the rumbling truck was close to putting the Japanese man asleep, but after a large number of road signs with unrecognized city names on them past by Rokuro decided to speak.

"Um, I was wondering, where exactly are you taking me?"

"Back to our office, on the north side of 5th shittest city in the world." Dutch chuckled.

"5th shittest?"

"Yeah, cause I can honestly think of 4 places worse than that right off the top of my head."

"Funny how I don't really feel any better." Rokuro sighed as he rested his head on the interior.

"Heh yeah," the gunwoman spoke, Rokuro nearly gagged as Rebecca's laugh sent a chill down his spine.

"There are't too many places as fucked up as San Romuerto, California."


	3. Mile 2

**Party Stronger**

The early afternoon sun beat down the Peterbilt as it moved ever closer to the city. It occupants were rather drained after the long night's events, and some had taken it upon themselves to get some shut eye before their arrival.

Unfortunately that someone was Rebecca, and she liked to kick in her sleep. Not even moving to floor in front of the cot saved the young businessman from her onslaught.

Pushed beyond what should be the physical limits of boredom and head trauma, the Japanese hostage attempted to entertain himself.

"So ah Dutch." Rokuro started.

Dutch nodded that he was listening.

"You guys don't seem to like um, what were they called-"

"Whitewater." Ben answered for him.

"Yeah, so what are they doing here?"

"Good question." Dutch spoke.

"They're a private military company hired by good ol' Uncle Sam to bolster the border patrol in San Romuerto." Ben explained.

Dutch chuckled a bit before adding, "Well that was the idea anyway, it seems they've lost a little bit'a that control though, not even local PD will cross a Whitewater car if they can help it."

"I suppose that would matter if SRPD wasn't bought off so easily." Ben laughed.

"Yeah, I noticed that, why the cars? It thought the military used Hum Vs or those trucks you see sometimes." Rokuro argued.

"That is something no one knows man," Dutch replied," There seems to be no good reason for what they drive. But holy fuck _can_ they drive."

"Yeah tell me about it, but that's not what you need to watch out for." Ben said, "If you wanna mess with Whitewater you gotta brush up on your car knowledge a little."

"What? Why?" Rokuro quickly asked.

"That's a funny story really." Dutch chuckled.

"A couple years back nobody really noticed what Whitewater did or what they drove, cause honestly it wasn't that impressive." Ben said.

"Yep, a kid in his dad's Mustang could give Whitewater a run for their money, they rolled around in Civics, Mazdas, and some classic Crown Vics." Dutch laughed.

"Occasionally you'd see a Whitewater Corvette or BMW. But that was so far and few between it was like they were never there."

"That's probably when we should'da noticed."

"Noticed?" the salaryman asked, actually curious now.

"The better the car, the badder the driver." Dutch as if it was obvious

"What?"

"Two years ago a White & Waterson car rolled through San Romuerto and the next day an entire drug ring was in body bags." Ben said with a shiver.

"That doesn't make any sense, are you saying one person did that?" Rokuro asked skeptically.

"We know they did it because nobody even knew about the ring until Whitewater came in." Dutch answered.

"Still, doesn't seem a little, you known..." Rokuro half replied.

"Oh, we would be saying that too, except you can ask anyone that was in San Romuerto that day. There was only one Whitewater car in the city. The rest had cleared out."

"This is starting to sound more like an urban legend." Rokuro pointed out.

"Yeah we know, it's what happened after that's important." Dutch continued.

"Soon people started seeing more expensive Whitewater cars; I mean shit you'd never see with a badge."

"Stuff like Ferraris, Aston Martins, Porsches; it's when those cars showed to up is when the body counts around here spiked." Dutch explained.

"There's no way they're just randomly, uh, killing people...are they?" Rokuro asked hesitantly, unsure of what to think about private military companies.

"Who knows," Ben shrugged, "But if you ever see a Whitewater Lambo roll up to a bar or somethin', it's a pretty good guarantee that everyone in there is fucked."

"Yeah no shit."

Rokuro nearly jumped out of skin at the sound of Rebecca's voice.

She stretched once before going straight toward the cooler sitting inside the cabin. The beer foamed a bit when she opened it, but the gunwoman wasted no time chugging it down.

"How close are we?" she growled.

"About 2 minutes give or take." Dutch answered.

"Wait." Rokuro suddenly spoke. Rebecca gave him a glare.

"What was the car that came two years ago?"

"It was Peugeot 908." Rebecca deadpanned.

"Wha-?

The cabin rocked slightly for a moment before slowing to a stop.

Dutch exited the truck without a word, only signaling Rokuro to follow. But the Japanese held his seat even as Rebecca left ahead of him.

"C'mon." Ben said offering a smile.

"Wait, where are we going?" the Rokuro said stepping out of the semi slowly.

"We're gonna go get a drink." Ben answered.

"What? You mean aclcohol? It's like 3 o'clock."

"We're leav'n." Ben said with a shrug.

"Ah wait, I thought I was a hostage!" the salaryman called as he jogged to catch up.

He peered around for a moment to find that he was at an old dock yard. A few old boats sat in the water, but for the most part it was deserted. Although the was a large warehouse that was very well kept sitting near the edge of the dock. Beside him were series of garages, the bigger ones he figured where for the semi, but it was the smaller one Ben had just walked into.

He quickly made his way through the door to find the rest of the crew piling into a Pontiac.

He slowly made his way around two other motorcycles before arriving on the other side of the two car garage.

He opened his mouth to speak but was quickly silenced as Dutch stuffed him in the back row beside Rebecca.

Before the Japanese hostage had chance to grasp his bearing he was on the move again.

* * *

The city was certainly not something Rokuro was expecting, thought the buildings that stretched to the sky, and the always present honking of impatient motorists was something he was used to. The atmosphere felt...well...it made his skin crawl.

And much to his dismay, he found Dutch turning away from the bright, clean, skyscrapers of the downtown towards the dirtier, darker, more rundown buildings of an older era.

It was like an old town projects sector that you never went too for fear of being mugged. Neons flickered, smoke lingered, the cars that rolled past where a disgusting shade of rust, and every other person on side walk seemed to be a scantily clad woman or toothless man pushing a shopping cart.

And as if to add insult to injury, the only police car Rokuro spotted was on cinder blocks, and coated nose to tail in graffiti.

Every echo of gun fire had the salaryman out of his seat, a spectacle that Rebecca got a few chuckles before she got annoyed and opted to punch him.

Rokuro didn't want to admit it, but that legend had also gotten to him just a little. And although only one Whitewater car the passed by, he gave it a very critical eye.

The sun was beginning to redden as they finally arrived at their destination.

"The Flag." Rokuro said aloud as looked at the yellow neon sign labeling the back alley nightclub. The club itself was a little far from its completion that was much farther down the road, a detail he made a note of. It was worn two story building with quite a good number cars sitting in the parking lot that surrounded it.

Rokuro wondered if the club was perhaps open a little earlier than is should be, but he guessed they must have been doing something right because the line at the entrance was already 20 people deep.

Dutch walked right up the brawny bouncer greeting him with a hardy hand shake. He waved the group in to moans and complains of the others waiting in line.

The heavy electronic sound assaulted his ear drums immediately. Laser lights shot in every which direction, highlighting the dancers already on the floor. The ceiling above the dance floor was open revealing a surrounding balcony with people drinking and dancing to their heart's content

All the way to the right, the DJ sported a bandit mask over his mouth and nose while he did a little jig from his pedestal.

To the far left where the lights began to die down was a lounge area filled with high top tables and a few scattered couches. All the way to right was the bar, where the Lagoon Company crew took their seats.

"I guess this is nice, but why does everyone seem to have a gun?" Rokuro asked hesitantly. Whether it was tucked into their pants, or in an actual holster, the majority of the party goes had an exposed fire arm.

"The last 3 bouncers that tried to ban guns got shot." Rebecca laughed.

"Then why is there even a bouncer?"

"They carry bigger guns." Dutch deadpanned.

"Of course," Rokuro griped, "usually I try to avoid that kind of confrontation."

"You get used to it, even if you don't see it right away, the entire city is like this." Dutch said after of sip of his drink.

"I'm beginning to get that." the salaryman said with a sigh.

"Well," the ebony man said as he stood," I've got to go make a call." And with nothing more to add he casually strolled away.

Ben noticed Rokuro giving the big man a wary look and decided to speak.

"Don't worry about him," he said with nod, "I've been working for him for quite a while now and I only know three things about him: he's shrewd, eccentric, and always wears sunglasses."

"Ah…so what did you do before you ended up here?" Rokuro asked.

"Heh, was at a college overseas, and I managed to piss off MI6 and Italian Mafia at the same time."

"What happened?"

"Yours truly bailed his sorry ass out." Rebecca laughed as she poked her head in-between theirs, making a grab for the bottle of rum.

"Anyway, you're not old enough to be-" Rebecca voice stopped short.

I put Rokuro off just enough to turn around.

Sitting right in Rebecca's seat was a very tan man, but not because of location. If Rokuro had to guess, the individual was of Middle Eastern decent. Through his plain button up it was easy to see he was very toned, not like Dutch, but the definition was there. To top it off he was distracting handsome, in fact the only flaw the man seemed to possess was the patch over his left eye.

"Suraj Jordan!" Rebecca shouted, bringing the man out of his thoughts.

"Well fuck." Suraj said while rolling his eye.

"Haven't seen yer ass around lately, ya look like shit." Rebecca laughed as she sat in the seat that was next to Rokuro.

"Nice to see you too Rebecca, I've been out of town" Suraj said with a smile that could have melted any woman.

"I bet you have!" she said giving him a slap on the back, "Say where's Tanaka? I thought you two motherfuckers were joined at the hip."

The man's right eye immediately darkened as a frown over took his face.

"I don't wanna talk about it." he said and turned back toward the bar.

"Hell no!" Rebecca said before taking another swig of her drink," I wanna hear this shit."

"...we're taking a break." Suraj said finally.

Rebecca couldn't even contain herself for an entire second, she shook as her laughs spilled out.

"That bitch finally dumped you!" she said in between gasps.

"No!" Suraj quickly argued, "we're just giving each other some space."

Rebecca's fist pounded the counter a few times as she continued to laugh, "that bitch is gone Suraj, I bet you anything she got another man grinding her right now."

The Middle Eastern man looked horrified at even the slightest thought, then returned to a neutral expression and nodded, "Yeah, you're probably right. She did say she only liked me for sex."

Rebecca snorted as she refilled Suraj's glass with Bacardi.

"Here, ya first problem is ya need to stop drinking that piss you call beer, a real man take rum." Suraj rolled his eye again and left the glass Rebecca had just filled where it was. Bidding the gunwoman farewell he stood to leave, to which she called him a pussy.

"Here you too." she said as she filling a glass, and placing it in front of Rokuro.

The salaryman gave it a look that said 'no thanks', but the Rebecca wasn't having that.

"What's wrong, can't handle a little rum?" she laughed, before grabbing her glass and chugging it down.

"C'mon, if ya ain't even got the balls for it, I guess you don't mind being out done by a woman.

Not here, somewhere was the faint sound of a nerve snapping.

Rokuro readjusted his suit's jacket and loosened his tie.

"I don't like guzzling it don't like some teenager, but I guess I can make an exception." the Japanese man said snidely before downing his glass in mere seconds.

"I was forced to drink in college, I was forced to drink after business meetings, if you think I can't handle this much? Then you've got another thing coming." he smirked, looking down at Rebecca where she sat.

She stood immediately, and snarled, "You think so huh?"

"Bartender, bring us all the Barcadi ya got!" they demanded in unison.

"Oi, what happened to avoiding confrontation?" Ben thought aloud.

* * *

"So that's how it is huh?"

Dutch stood with his back against near the entrance to the back door, a cigarette in one hand, his phone in the other.

"So it would seem." said the female voice at the other end, "for once it seems that Whitewater is the least of your problems."

"Do have any specific details?"

"I'm receiving them as we speak." The sound of pained screams was faint in the background. It was silent for a moment before there were more muffled grunts followed by the sharp sound of gunfire.

"It would seem Atsushi Heavy Industries didn't want to take any chances, they're called Extra Ordinance Company, but we're unsure of their size."

"Well ain't that some shit."

"Indeed, try not to die Dutch." were her last words before the line went dead.

* * *

The sizeable crowd around them cheered as Rebecca and Rokuro pounded down shot after shot, neither letting up until Rebecca paused.

Rokuro smirked, confident in his victory until he traced Rebecca's line of sight.

Two cylindrical containers skipped and bounced their way onto the dance floor. By the time Rokuro had turned back, Rebecca was already half way over the contour.

All the Japanese man in business suit could do was duck as the blast came.

The flash grenades detonated, killing two unfortunate dancers instantly. The others screamed as all hell broke loose.

Gun fired streamed from the entrance and blacked out windows, obliterating anyone that was still standing. Screams of pain and anguish accentuated the gunfire as the bullets continued to pepper the inside of the building.

Rokuro shouted in panic as he scrambled across floor to other side of the bar.

To his bewilderment he found the bartender, Suraj, and Rebecca sitting there rather calmly.

"Are these friends of yours Rebecca?" the bartender shouted angrily as he gripped his shotgun.

"Nope, they ain't with me Bao." Rebecca replied before taking another sip of her drink.

"She's probably lying." Suraj scoffed.

"REBECCA!" Dutch's voice shouted of over the gun fire.

"Still here Dutch!" the Oriental woman replied as she upholstered both of her Berettas.

"BENJAMIN!"

"Somehow I'm alive!" Ben shouted as he ran to where Dutch was.

"ROKURO!"

"Dead! People are fucking dying! 4 years of college and job with a big company and this is where I end up!? This isn't fair!"

"Hey Dutch is that you!?" Suraj called.

"Fuck, you're here too?" Dutch said as he ducked from another explosion," Hey Rebecca I think it's time to show these guys why the locals call you Dos Manos!"

The gun fire stopped just as suddenly as it started, letting smoke and debris float into the air.

"Secure the room!" a gruff voice command.

A dozen or some men poured into the nightclub, each one sweeping the room with precision only military training could provide.

"It's clear sir." one shouted.

"Heh, I don't think so, I heard voices back there." the unit's commander replied," And you know how much I fucking hate the sound of survivors."

"Nice line." Rebecca growled, "So how 'bout it Suraj?" she said, her eyes turning a frightening color.

Rokuro seemed confused until he looked at other man, the same darkened shade as Rebecca's had taken over his only eye.

"I don't know," he snarled as he produced a single fire arm, "You have been kind of a bitch tonight, I'll think about it."

"Fine, more for me."

There was a tense silence for only moment before Rebecca launched. With more power than a seasoned gymnast, the gunwoman sailed through the air. Her pistol barked as their bullets burrowed through the skulls of two mercenaries.

Her touchdown only lasted second before she lunged sideways, firing away with mechanical efficiency. She rolled behind as pillar as their gun fire drew closer, but only for a millisecond before she jumped away.

She second her boots met the ground she dashed, her form blurring from the sheer speed of her movement.

Round after round connected as three more fell, she spun away from another volley as more soldiers met their end.

"she's smiling..." Rock gasped in awe of the scene taking place.

"Dutch!" Rebecca commanded as she flew over the bar counter again.

Dutch's revolver sounded as the mercenaries where torn from trying to destroy the bar.

"I swear to god Rebecca if you don't get rid of these assholes, I'm gonna weld yours shut." Bao threatened.

"Got it." she growled.

"Hey Rebecca, how 'bout I play with you this round." Suraj announced as he pulled out a knife, wielding it backwards he tucked that wrist under his gun hand.

Rokuro nearly choked, frozen in fear as Rebecca's demonic smile grew wider.

"DUTCH!" she called.

The revolver went off again as the mercs drew their fire.

In the blink of an eye both gunners vaulted over the bar. The three round burst of Suraj's pistol complimented Rebecca's twin guns as they weaved their way through the panicking soldiers.

Like fire and ice, Rebecca's movements had her flipping through the air and off of walls while Suraj stayed grounded slashing his way to and from cover, only dancing with the gunwoman when she silently demanded it.

"Look, I think we should just part ways here!" Dutch yelled at Rokuro in between firing.

"What!?" the salaryman screamed.

"There's no point in going for a ransom now and we didn't mean to pick you up anyway!"

"No! You can't just take me hostage and leave me here! I'm coming with you!" he shouted as he scrambled toward Dutch.

"Fine have it your way, just don't get in our way." Dutch said, "REBECCA! SURAJ! We're leaving!"

The wall nearly buckled as Rebecca propelled herself against, running most of its length before diving into the hall. Suraj rolled in moments later under Dutch's covering fire.

As Rebecca kicked down the back door, she flicked her Beretta's outward, killing the two men trying to flank them.

Moments later the GTO skidded to stop before them. As they loaded in Dutch put a few more shots into hall. The instant he was in the car, Ben floored it.

* * *

The street lights bathed the muscle car with waves of orange as the vehicle made its way down the highway, passing more than a few fire trucks and police cars as they sped in the opposite direction. With limited room in the back row of the car, Rebecca sat in Suraj's lap with her legs stretched across a businessman who currently was looking through the window with an extremely dejected expression.

"Hey look, Suraj is back." Rebecca said, her eyes still reflecting a dangerous shade.

"Ain't that somethin', where'd you visit Jordan?" Dutch asked with low sullen voice.

"I went to a little city in Thailand, but the weather was terrible." Suraj answered, his own eye still matched the gunwoman's.

"What is this? It's like some sort of bad joke…it's like I'm stuck in some sort of movie." Rokuro said to no one in particular.

"You kidding? This is way better than anything from Hollywood." Rebecca smirked.


	4. Mile 3

**Mad Man**

Across the expanse of the Southwest's barren seas, was an ocean broken only by plants and towering rocks. An ocean of sand and stone that could make even the sturdiest, healthiest man fall to his knees. Even in these modern times, a sailor is still cautious about traveling these seas. Many would nod and laugh, dismissing a captain's tall tales as flights of fancy. But it is those who treat these sands with disrespect that soon find themselves minutes from death, with no food, no water, no chance of survival.

But then there are those who crave it, need it, lust after it. The two lane tarmac is like a drug that can't be put down. The desert paths are just another excuse to feel the sand beneath you, the triple digit temperatures just another reason to free yourself from your woven bonds.

These endless sand represent some many different things, they reflect so many different emotions. Even the humble big rig trucker would feel a little off if he didn't find bits of sand in his cabin.

Indeed, even these terrestrial freighters swim the waves of sand as they strive to make sure their precious cargo arrives on time.

Although there was one truck out on the desert road that currently sought safety and escape. A black Peterbilt 359 with a sleeper package. It sported quite a high quality flatbed trailer with a lone motorcycle sitting atop it.

I didn't look out of the ordinary; more like someone was just doing a favor. Plus the semis' black paint job made it rather hard to spot, even on a clear night such as this.

But it was simply hard to spot, not impossible.

Nestled deep in the ridge line of one of the deserts rocky hills, far away from the intrusive sights and sound of the city. A bright white vehicle sat, motionless as the moon light bathed it. Like all the other vehicles in the company it belonged to, it's white paint job was accented with a few black vinyl of choice. But only simple shapes and very low quantities, only the Elites could have a little more.

Although its driver didn't mind much, the only important thing he wanted to show off on his Jeep was the company's emblem. It was a circular, tire like shape with a "WWSS" filling its quadrants. The driver felt it was a great compliment to go with his truck's SRT8 badge.

"Wait a sec-"

The driver dusted off his repurposed racing suit and dove for his trusty binoculars. Within moments he put finger to his ear piece.

"This is Predator 46 requesting Squad Leader."

There were a few silent seconds before his speaker crackled.

"This is Sentinel 23."

"I've located the target truck, it's proceeding east on US 60."

"Black Peterbilt sleeper?" Sentinel 23 quickly asked.

"Affirmative."

"Right where thought they'd be."

"Sir if you wouldn't mind, I'd like permission to pursue and engage."

"What?" the commanding officer asked in honest confusion.

"We're trying to stop it, correct? I have position on them, they'll never see me-"

"Shut up, ya fuck'n scrub" I gruff voice cut in, but the Jeep driver and superior recognized it immediately.

"Uh, Revo, sir, what brings you to our channel...sir?" the Sentinel replied, taken aback by the Elite's presence

"Apparently keeping the Predator under your command from killin' himself."

"With all due respect, Revo sir, it's a single truck. We all know the Sentienls they took out were low tier. I can reassure you I won't have a problem dealing with these thieves." Predator 46 said confidently.

The radio with filled with Revo's muffled laughter much to the Jeep driver's distaste, how could what he was proposing be funny?

But as soon as the laughing stopped, Revo's voice came back darker than before.

"Listen Predator 46, you are not move on that vehicle under any circumstances, our clients have made it clear that Extra is going to be taking over from here as the primary unit."

"Ah yes sir."

"No, I'm not done; you need to learn something right now scrub. The other reason you're not gonna move on that truck is because I can guarantee you won't survive. They will see you coming, and if you engage them, they will kill you."

Predator 46 stayed silent.

"The occupants of the semi will not hesitate to leave you full of bullets and on your hood. I'm not even sure three Elites could successfully engage them without the risk of death."

"Understood sir." the Jeep driver replied immediately.

"Good, we don't need anyone tryin' to be a god damn hero around here. Relay their position to Extra Ordinance and retire for the night, that's an order Predator 46."

"Understood sir." the Predator grumbled as he pulled his finger away from the ear piece.

'Hmgh, doesn't matter who does it,' the driver thought as he hoped off the hood of his SUV, 'everyone in that truck will get what com'n to 'em.'

* * *

"Ugh." Rokuro groaned as his 1000 yard stare traveled ever father out to the Lagoon company semi, what had he done to deserve being kidnapped by these good for nothing pirates?

Yeah pirates, the Japanese businessman couldn't think of a better way to describe them. Even if there was client involved, they took what they wanted and didn't care who got hurt in the process.

And to be quite honest Rokuro was getting tired of it. The only sensible person he'd met of over this entire ordeal was Ben. Even Suraj's gentlemanly demeanor couldn't overwrite that look...that smile he had.

The same smile the Rebecca had, it was burned into his mind, forever reminding him of the demented glee on her face every time he closed his eyes.

Rokuro wasn't even sure was could make person take such blissful pleasure in killing. When Suraj removed his blood stained shirt upon leaving the car that night, the Japanese man had just barely caught a glimpse of triangle that was brutally branded onto his skin. Surely it was obvious that one eyed man's life had not been ideal.

But what had forced Rebecca to be so-

"Hey, check this out." Ben said with a chuckle as he changed the angle of his left most screen so others could see.

The text 'Breaking News!' flashed across the bottom of the screen as a female anchor described the scene that was taking place behind her.

"-gang shooting has left this building devastated. Witnesses are saying what started as a simple argument erupted in gunfire. Although it has been confirmed that a cartel was involved, but the two groups that were fighting have yet to be identified."

"You can't be serious..." Rokuro said after a few minutes.

Rebecca laughed, regaling in satisfaction of her handy work.

'Christ, even the media was corrupt, how is this happening? This is America...' Rokuro thought to himself, 'how is this not some sick joke?'

"Listen Rokuro, we're going to try to get in contact with the company you were helping transport those disks for." Dutch said, giving Ben a nudge in the shoulder, "We'll see if we can't work out a place for you to be picked up, since I doubt you're going to be successfully ransomed."

"Blow it out your ass Dutch." Rebecca sneered.

Rokuro gave a huge sigh of relief, that was the best news he'd heard all day, finally some-

"Oh, here we go." Ben said suddenly, then he turned around in his seat and tossed the salaryman a Bluetooth.

"It's your boss." the techie explained.

Rokuro couldn't have gotten the Bluebooth in his ear any faster, "Yes, hello Mr. Kageyama!"

"This is Okajima Rokuro correct?" his gruff, demanding voice caused Rokuro to flinch a little.

"Yes sir! About the disks that were supposed to be taken to the convention-"

"Don't concern yourself with that anymore, those disks no longer exist."

"Huh? I..I don't understand sir..."

"Well I suppose it doesn't matter now so I might as well tell you. Atsushi's Bio-chemical Research facility was elicited into developing a synthetic virus for a third party, those disks contained the designs."

"I wasn't aware we had a Bio-chemical department."

"That's because we don't."

"..."

"Listen Okajima, the moment our original security measures failed in transporting the disks it quickly came to our attention that a contingency plan was required."

"Wha-"

"I'm sure you realize that we can't let any of this information become public knowledge on any level. For that reason I must request that you vanish into American deserts."

"But Mr. Kage-"

"Your funeral will be scheduled for next month, you'll be promoted to District Supervisor and I'll make sure every board member attends the ceremony."

The only expression on Rokuro's face was that of pure un-adult rated shock.

"Well, the professional soldiers should be moving fairly soon, good-bye Mr. Okajima."

The earpiece fell to cot with a soft thump as Rokuro gagged.

"Shit! Keep that over there asshole." Rebecca said edging away from the horrified man.

"I take it that conversation didn't good too well, hm?" Dutch spoke.

"They said my _funeral_ is to be held next month, my motherfucking funeral!" Rokuro cried.

"Well shit that _definitely_ fucks up my ransom idea, "the gunwoman complained," thanks for nothin'."

Rokuro shot her an audacious look; he was a moments from opening his mouth before he found himself looking down the barrel of a 92F.

"You'd better think really carefully about you're gonna say ya fuck'n cunt, 'cause you ain't worth shit to me now." Rebecca growled.

"Uh oh." Ben said loud enough to tear Rebecca's glare away from Rokuro.

"What's up Benny?" Dutch asked.

"Something I didn't recognize just flashed on radar." Ben replied while furiously typing on her keyboard.

"Best guess?" Dutch asked immediately.

"It's about 7 miles behind, 500 feet up and boy is it haulin' ass."

"500 feet up? Rebecca see if you can go get a visual." the semi driver commanded.

"Way ahead of ya." She replied as she slid back a panel on the truck's ceiling. A small foot ladder folded out revealing a hatch behind it.

With night vison binoculars in hand, the gunwoman popped the hatch open. Rokuro flinched, expecting wind to gush in, but hatch opened out so the door blocked the rushing air flowing over the truck.

With a one foot perched on the last rung, Rebecca gazed out at the night sky. But the only thing that met her eyes was the frigid darkness of the night sky.

"What the fuck am looking for guys!?" she shouted.

"It's got about 4 miles on us now!" Ben replied.

Rebecca slammed the top of the truck in frustration as she continued to search. What the hell was out there?

The irritable gunner was about to voice another complaint when she noticed a flicker of something, the slight warp of an exhaust plume.

"OH FUCK!" Rebecca dove back into the cabin. Rokuro jump as the gunwoman ripped open the long drawer that was underneath the cot.

"Rebecca!?" Dutch barked over his shoulder.

"It's a goddamn Osprey Dutch!" Rebecca fired back, she huffed as she yanked out the item she desired.

It was a large, thick, and menacing looking rifle that she proceeded to ram a magazine into with ferocity.

"Osprey!?" Rokuro asked frantically.

Within seconds Rebecca was back up the ladder, with bipod of the Barrett sitting on the semi's roof she flipped open the cover to its infrared scope.

"FUCK! I lost it again!" she yelled as she scanned the skies.

"4'o clock!" Ben said.

The bipod squeaked as it slid across the roof, and like a bright white angle of death the tilt-rotor craft filled her scope.

But no sooner did Rebecca find the Osprey did a grey plume jettison from under its belly.

"FLARES!" she half screamed half commanded.

An honest look of surprise flew across Dutch's face before he slammed an aftermarket button on the Peterbilt's dash.

Night transformed into day as balls of fire spewed from underneath the sleeper unit.

Rebecca let off two panicked shots when the missile didn't immediately catch, but moments later it flew to its demise. The ground rumbled as the explosion sent a column of smoke into the air.

"What the hell was that!?" the salaryman screamed as he clutched the cot with a death grip.

"Fuck if I know, Ospreys don't have bay's or room for hard points." Dutch commented.

"Well this one does!" Rebecca fired back," we gotta-"

Rebecca dove back into the cabin just as bone chilling scream of 2,000 rounds per minute tore its way across the semi.

"Shit! Now were being shot at!?" Rokuro cried before slamming into the cabin's wall.

The tires screeched as Dutch's hard right took them onto another road. Just over the sound of the rumbling diesel the twin props of the Osprey could be heard whining as the craft arched wide to keep chase with the semi.

Within moments Rebecca was back up the and out of the hatch. It only took another moment more to have the Osprey back in her sights, the bulpup rifle kicked in her arms as she let off shot after shot. The sides of the aircraft flashed as the bullets ricocheted off of its frame.

The gunwoman steadied herself for a more accurate shot at the cockpit but ducked again when she saw the gatling mechanism spinning.

"MINIGUN! she shouted as landed back in the cabin.

The Peterblit squealed as Dutch slammed its brakes, the road ahead erupted as the gatling rounds sliced the asphalt in half.

"Fuck'n Christ!" Dutch said as he took the semi into rocky desert before cutting the wheel sharp left in order to make a quick u-turn.

"Oh boy." Ben said with a little exasperation just as the semi straighten back out on to the road, "The Osprey just hailed us."

"Fuck'n brillant, put 'em on speaker." Dutch demanded while shifting gears.

A foreign voice filled the cabin immediately, "HELLO! How you guys doin' tonight?"

"Shove it up yer ass, cocksucker!" Rebecca barked as she climbed back through the ceiling hatch.

"Nice, just wanted to let ya'll know that you're all gonna be dead by sun up, but if ya wouldn't mind making my hunt just a little entertaining, that'd be greatly appreciated." the Osprey pilot laughed." Heads up ya'll!"

Dutch instinctively swerved the truck right forcing it to rumble off-road. The white stream of rapid fire bullets tore across the desert floor herding the Lagoon company truck further into the sandy sea.

Another violent volley spat from the aircraft but Dutch's cleverly slammed the brake dodging left of the hail fire. He sped the truck around a protruding rock formation, but even that was unable to withstand sheer force of the automatic weapon. Chunks of rock peppered the Peterbilt as it tried to make it's way back to the road.

"Above us!" Ben shouted just as the sands around them began to violently kick up.

Dutch broke away moments before the Browning machine gun caught the side of the semi. The hired soldier continued to fire from the craft's open cargo hold illuminating the rear of the tilt-rotor plane as it's pilot tried to stay in front of the Peterbilt.

Everyone within the cabin was thrown skyward the semi skipped across the strip of road it had recently left.

"Hey Dutch!" Rebecca started, but the driver cut her off.

"Yeah I know where we're headed." he complained.

"What? Where are we going?" Rokuro asked.

"Where heading towards the River's plateau, we need to turn this truck around before they get clever and try to herd us into one of its openings." Ben said.

"Wa-wait? Couldn't we lose them in there?" Rokuro suggested.

"No, every entrance in River's is a dead end." Rebecca growled as she slipped a fresh clip into the Barrett.

Before the salaryman could say anything else the semi lurched left sliding haphazardly across the loose ground. A fiery stream of bullets sliced off the right mirror as the truck barreled into one of the plateau's canyon like openings.

"Fuck." Dutch sighed as he lay back in his seat while slowing the truck down.

"Okay, shut up both of you." Dutch said.

"I haven't said shit." Rebecca rolled her eyes. Ben only shrugged and readjusted himself in his seat.

"You know I had to evade this way right." Dutch explained.

"Yeah, yeah." Rebecca said apathetically before climbing back up to the roof's hatch. With the rifle's bipod down again she quickly scanned a much sky as possible, but the enormous rock walls were blocking much of her view.

"They stopped at the entrance, maintaining an approximate 50 foot vertical." Ben announced.

"Well this fuckin' blows." Rebecca said as she pulled back the rifle and slipped back into the cabin.

"Damnit! We're trapped aren't we?" Rokuro asked frantically.

"Pretty much." Ben replied.

"But, they're not following us! We need to do something now!" the Japanese man said.

"Yeah no kidding, you don't get too many assholes who still like to play cowboy like these guys." Dutch replied as he slowly light up a cigarette.

"Cowboys?" Rokuro asked.

"Thrill seekers, those bastards could have blown us to hell already, but they're trying to drag this on, they're just high off the chase." Dutch explained.

"So what now?" the gunwoman asked as reclined against the back the cabin, cradling the .50 caliber rifle," All we'll got is this Barrett, the flare gun, and a couple of frags." she continued.

"Not sure, we're lucky they haven't hit the catapult, that kind of rapid decompression probably would have sent it's shaft right through the engine block." Dutch laughed.

"Com'n on there's gotta be something we can do." Rokuro said.

"Like what dumbass?" Rebecca snapped.

"Yeah, our options are pretty fucking limited right know Mr. Okajima." Dutch added.

"We can get a signal out here right? We should try calling the police, it's better than nothing!" Rokuro reasoned.

Rebecca slapped the side of his head.

"They clearly want the have climatic face off with us, so we've got a little time to think." Ben pointed out.

"Well I guess the floor is open then." Dutch said as he stopped the truck once it had turned a full 180.

"We could try waiting for them to run out of fuel." Rebecca suggested after a few seconds.

"They'd definitely come finish us off before that happens." Ben replied, "but for one thing we should probably drop the trailer, it couldn't hurt to lose the weight."

"Fuck you Benny, what about my bike?" Rebecca complained.

"Save it Rebecca, Ben's right losing the trailer is probably our best option right now." Dutch said as he began to undo his seatbelt.

"Wait."

Everyone froze for a moment as they registered the unfamiliar voice that had just spoken.

"I don't think we're fucked just yet." Rokuro snarled.

* * *

Sitting just a few miles away from the renown land mark of River's Plateau, a bright white Ford RS200 sat bathing in the moonlight. Its driver, a man proud to own such a legendary piece of machinery, was currently sanding outside his vehicle with binoculars in hand. He gazed across the desert floor, perplexed at the sight he was observing through the lenses. At one of the openpngs to River's Plateau a Bell Boeing Osprey hovered low to the ground kicking up dust and sand as it waited for the semi truck in had chased inside. This baffled the driver, what was the Osprey pilot waiting for? A signed invitation?

"Revo." a familiar voice crackled in his ear, ripping him from his thoughts.

He placed a finger to the ear piece before replying, "What is it Oni? I'm busy." he lied.

"Bullshit." the voice said immediately.

"What do you want?" Revo replied more sternly.

"Siren wants us back at the Pool."

"Why?"

"Fuck if I know, she just told me like 5 minutes ago."

"Why didn't she call me herself?"

"You don't pick up for anyone but me a Zulu, you dick."

"Speakin' a which, Zulu is second in command if it's urgent he'll call me. That stupid bitch can take her Peugot an' shove it up her ass. She needs to stop trying to act like-"

"Queen? That's why she called."

"What?"

"Queen's back."

"...fuck."

* * *

"That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard." Rebecca said as soon as Rokuro was done.

"Well but when you really think about it, it's all technically possible. Maxed out, the catapult would produce enough force" Ben added.

Dutch took a long drag of his cigarette, "Hm, does your momma know how bat shit crazy you are Rokuro?" he laughed.

The salaryman reclined with a look of smug satisfaction.

"Seriously, this won't work." Rebecca complained again, crossing her arms.

"Probably, but I'm sure you have a much better idea, right?" Dutch sneered.

Everyone watched a Rebecca stroked the rifle in her hands, she glared at Dutch intending to start a rebuttal but stopped short.

"Though I'm fairly certain we're still fucked." Dutch added, "I revel in the idea of going out behind a stunt like this."

Rokuro's expression faltered for only a moment, the ebony man's tone didn't sit too well with him.

"Let's go 'Becca, help me rig the catapult." Dutch said as his opened the truck's door. Rebecca grumbled something about her motorcycle before punching Rokuro in the arm, much to his distain.

The Peterbilt's head lights flashed back on as it engine roared to life. Smoke poured from its exhaust as the semi revved defiantly. The preying Osprey immediately replied, lowering itself closer to the ground, its pilot irrationally ecstatic about having a head on duel.

Two white plumes of gas jettisoned from underneath the front wheel's fenders as the truck's nitrous system purged.

Black smoke erupted from the trucks exhaust filling the air above as the vehicle was put in gear.

Flashes of light shot from the top of semi as high caliber rounds pinged off the Osprey's armor. The pilot edged the craft forward, accepting the truck's challenge, with a flick of a switch infrared guided ordinance leapt from the side of aircraft leaving a stream of smoke in its wake.

But it was only moments before single flare launched itself from the roof on the Peterbilt. The missile curved from its original target setting the crevasse ablaze as it impacted a rock wall.

Now the exhaust pipes of the truck spewed flames as the boosted engine threw the semi past one hundred mile per hours. The semi was now only seconds from the exit of the canal, plenty of time for the Osprey's gatling to unleash a final hail of bullets.

The volley tore a jagged line across the ground, rapidly approaching the truck that now seemed to be on a suicidal path.

Moments before the lethal rounds could connect with the trunk something red flew through the wall of smoke the truck's exhaust created.

It all seemed to slow down for the tilt-rotor pilot as the two wheeled vehicle flipped through the air.

He instinctively pulled up, trying to avoid the unorthodox projectile. But he couldn't, it was moving too fast, it was too close.

The pilot neck craned as he watched a red Yamaha decorated with a few grenades slam into the Osprey's left rotor.

The blades buckled instantly, detonating the engine and the bike along with it. Unfortunately that didn't stop hand full of bullets from piercing the Peterbilt as it continued forward.

A few loose rounds sliced through the truck's engine block seizing it's components and causing the vehicle to slide out of control.

The Osprey violently spiraled downward in a coat of flames, nicking the Peterbilt's flatbed before smashing into ground with a thunderous force. It stayed like that for a hot second before the aircraft's auxiliary gas tanks exploded.

The night sky was set ablaze by the fiery clouds as the shockwaves flicked the semi over like it was nothing.

As the salaryman's eye's fluttered open he was meet with a horrifying sight, the night sky. He tried to move but his body protested.

He released a huge sigh of relief; at least being thrown from the truck hadn't paralyzed him as far as he knew.

Better question was how he survived such an ordeal in the first place.

After what felt like an hour of lying on his back, Rokuro dared to move his head again. To his right was Dutch's semi laying on its side with the back end of the cabin blown open. At the left the Osprey burned brilliantly, its intense fires forced sweat onto Rokuro's brow.

With another few minutes past, the drive side door to the truck burst open as its ebony driver clawed his way up and out. His revolver was primed as scanned his surrounds, he spotted the slarayman and quickly put the sidearm away.

The gunwoman stumbled out of the wreckage moments later, clutching her leg as blood soaked her hands.

"FUCK!" she screamed at no one in particular.

As if responding to the outburst, Ben kicked out what was left of the Peterbilt's windshield. He crawled through and stood, dusting himself off.

"Well, I'll be damned, it looks like no one died." Dutch chuckled as her leapt from atop the truck.

Rebecca growled something unintelligible as she tied a piece of cloth around her wound.

"Whew, yeah that was definitely one for the highlight reel." Ben added

"I can't belive that really worked." Rokuro said, unable to keep himself from laughing; that is until Rebecca grabbed him by the collar.

"The fuck are you laugh'n at bitch? You owe me a goddamn motorcycle." she fumed.

"Chill Rebecca." Dutch demanded, "Ben we gotta ride yet?"

"Already done." the techie said as he brought a cellphone away from his ear.

Dutch sighed as he sat down and leaned up against the truck's hood, Ben did the same as the driver pulled out two cigarettes.

Rebecca, who still clutched Rokuro looked back at them, then back to Japanese man, before sighing in defeat.

"We are never pulling some shit like that again."

* * *

Deep in the back alleys and hidden cubbies of forgotten ghettos, the sun beat down on those who stood idly underneath it. Within the front lot of a long abandoned warehouse sat a pristine Mercedes. It owner stood in front, exuding the air of dominance he fought to maintain and beside him was the yes man that always agreed with that notion.

But this, while not official corporate business, was an absolute necessity. This liability, this turn of events was becoming costly and needed to be dealt with now.

Whether the disks where destroyed, or by some ridiculous miracle they actually got delivered, the information would still ultimately end up in his hands.

It is quite sad that the only negligible cost we be that employee.

The corporate businessman looked to his side, observing his new escorts. It had clearly been a mistake trying to take the cheap way out and hiring minimal security. Now he was no car person, but he did recognized to one sitting close to his left to be a Ferrari. Although he was assured quality, the business man couldn't help but wonder if the increased fee simply was for the more expensive vehicles.

Kageyama flipped back the cuffs of his tailored suit to peer at his watch once again. He frowned, Extra was supposed to report back to him over 20 minutes ago. This kind of tardiness would not be tolerated for much longer.

'Perhaps,' he thought, 'I should have simply sent Extra Ordinance to dispose of this Russian harlot.' He glanced over at the mafia head who causally leaning against the hood of her car.

The smoke from her cigar tinted the air around her face, only serving to enhance the bone chilling look of confidence that bolted onto her face. If the Lagoon Company did show, she would harbor the slight twinge of pity for them. Even though they would well compensated, ultimately it would be for nothing, the information would end up going full circle.

But hey, that's life.

"Ms. Balalaika." the man standing near her said, he gestured toward the lot's entrance

The sound of the engines was like an explosion as their rumble reverberated off the walls of the nearby buildings. It was enough to bring the drivers of cloud colored Ferrari and Radical out of their cars.

The Russian queen only smirked as the three vehicles slowed to a stop.

"We ran into a bit of trouble." Dutch said as he stepped out the Porsche's passenger side.

"I can tell, to imagin-" her smile was gone in a flash as the Porsche's driver stepped out; an interesting asset that Dutch was no doubt trying to save for a rainy day.

And just like that her minx smirk was back again," to imagine your truck would be a causality, such a shame."

"Yeah, I think we're all still hurting from that one." Dutch said as he beckoned the rest of his crew to get out.

"Well, good work none the less Dutch." Balalaika said as she took the disks she was handed, "And we can discuss our deal later." she added, handing the disks to Kageyama.

"Hm, very good then." he replied with a nod, "I suppose we're done here for now." he added as he stepped into the back seat of his sedan.

He paused for a moment and looked back out, "Good work today Okajima, now come along."

It didn't take long for Rokuro's face to spin from surprise to anger.

"What!?" he asked incredulously, stepping up to Mercedes.

"You heard me Okaijma, you still have a place a Atsushi." Kageyama replied more sternly.

"Hm if I recall, I believe you said I was already dead." Rokuro deadpanned.

Kageyama's glare was emotionless.

"You can go screw yourself." Rokruo snarled while jutting up his middle finger.

"Hmgh, well do as you want." and without another word the Mercedes and its escorts pulled off.

Shortly after, Balalaika's Bentley began to roll away. But not before stopping beside the jobless salaryman.

"It seems you had quite an interesting night, and I'll admit it takes a bit of gusto to get the Lagoon out of a jam. Perhaps I owe you a little favor. Until next time Mr. Okajima." Balalaika said before the vehicle left.

Free of whatever burdens he previously possessed, Rokuro Okajima strolled back to the group that was waiting for him.

Dutch, Benjamin, Rebecca, Suraj, the ones that called themselves Stewart and Tesla. Within the course of two days he'd been kidnapped in a moving car, witnessed a club shoot out, destroyed a tilt rotor aircraft using a motorcycle, and just flipped his former boss the bird.

In two fucking days, Rokuro had never felt exhilaration like this. The adrenaline, the thrill was suffocating, not since he'd left his cold, unforgiving city had he felt so alive.

Although he'd almost died multiple times, Rokuro wondered if this is what living was supposed to truly feel like...

"So Rokuro, what'll do now?" Dutch asked as he lit up a cigarette.

"Hmmm." the ex-business man replied as if contemplating another course of action.

"I hear there's a couple delivery boys that could maybe use an extra hand." Rebecca said after a short pause.

"That sometimes have to brush with the law in order to bread on the table, right?" the Japanese man finished with a chuckle.

"Yeah, that's the one."


	5. Rest Stop 1

**Brown Sugar**

This city of San San Romuerto, a sprawling metropolis that is precariously placed on the border of Mexico and America. A seedy and vile place where the cultivation of Hispanic cartels provide a lightning rod for international crime. But that is a section of society that is well hidden, Of citizens and tourists alike, many know and simply turn a blind eye. None wanting to dirty their perfect and pristine lives while those trapped in the confines of the northern side fight amongst one another over simple commodities.

Even the San Romuerto's newest resident could see, in only a short time, how black and white this city truely is. A Japanese business man that once lived in a frozen city now thrust into the fires of conflict.

Fires that tasted a lot like vanilla, vanilla with a hint of lemon. Or something, he couldn't quite decide.

Rokuro took another hardy lick of his ice cream as he strolled leisurely past the beach front shops. In a city shrouded by capital crime, they sure made a mean homemade blend.

Since his original run in with the Lagoon company couriers, Rokuro had found he hadn't gotten much time to explore the city he was now calling home.

Well at least the "tourist" side as Rebecca sometimes called it, with her general sprinkling of pointless explicatives here and there. So far most of his time had been spent around the grungy side of San Romuerto where Lagoon Co.'s inner city office was located. It was an interesting layout to say the least, with the office actually being on the second floor and a set of apartments to go along with it on the third.

While everyone in the crew lived in those apartments, the salaryman got the sense that they had some secondary getaways, a necessary home away from home for when the situation demanded it.

'Perhaps I should look into something like that.' Rokuro thought, ' And a new suit probably wouldn't hurt either.'

He looked at the jacket that was swung over his shoulder; it sported some very obvious tears from the Osprey incident. Dutch had recommended a wardrobe change which Rokuro half agreed with, he still considered himself working for a business and as such would look the part. Which means always having a presentable suit to wear.

Anyhow he needed to get out of the office anyway since Rebecca decided that today was the day to be belligerent about no longer having a functioning street bike. In fact she seemed to like motorcycling almost as much as she liked guns. But unfortunately she wasn't afraid to use them to get her point across, to anyone.

And the best remedy Rokuro found was this delicious ice cream and a boardwalk stroll. But even the midday heat was making that difficult to bear. After finishing his snack he found a public table that sported an umbrella. He draped his jacket onto a chair then sat in the one near it.

He gazed out onto the beach, watching as patrons went about their day cheerfully, splashing through the waves and lounging in the sand.

Despite to scene, Rokuro frowned for a moment. All these people were blissfully going about their day as if nothing was wrong in this city. The Japanese man was both disappointed and sympathetic. In his short time here he had learned to wary of unnecessary engagement for most people were armed and unruly. That and the need to give every white car a once over for the distinctive White Water crest, they were just as likely to cause trouble as any round about thug.

Rokuro sighed as he pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket, shielding it from the coastal wind he light it and took a long drag. He lounged back in the chair letting the nicotine fill his senses with delight.

"Mind if I sit here?" a voice asked, and before the ex-salaryman could answer the sound of someone sitting opposite to him hit his ear drums.

He turned to find a woman sitting in the seat, his eyes instinctively darted to her chest before locking with her face. She was African America with rather supple features despite the scars she possess.

That caused flag to go up, and not just up but slap him in the face as well. Scars like Rebecca's, some obvious, some not, and some clearly the result of a bullet.

He studied her again, having to tear himself away from her amply pert chest again. The sporty sunglasses she wore cloaked many if any emotion she was expressing. But it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she was very aware of physically attractive she was.

But it was when she lounged back in the chair that Rokuro quickly placed the archetype together, with the help of a few old high acquaintances that took part in a certain club.

Her muscles were noticeably more definite, perhaps providing more power than at first glance. And if you wanted to stereotype based on her zig zag cornrows, the woman was certainly some kind of boxer.

"You wouldn't happen to be Rokuro, would ja?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. How do you know my name?"

"You're the Lagoon's newest member right? Sorry, it's just news travels fast around here." she explained with a dismissive smile.

Her accent...

"Yeah, my name is Rokuro Okajima." the ex-salaryman said extending his hand to shake.

"Victoria Liao." she replied, grasping his hand with a frightening grip.

"Liao...you wouldn't happen to speak Cantonese or-"

"Mandarin, fluently." she finished.

"Hm, that's interesting to say the least."

"Tell me about it, little black girl in Beijing, bet you haven't seen that movie." she chuckled.

"So, I don't mean to pry but how'd you end up here?"

"A lotta reasons really, mostly, I wanted to live closer to my real parents, you know?"

"Well this is the furthest I've ever been from mine."

"Oh, sorry about that."

"Eh, I've wasn't never in much contact with them anyway."

Victoria nodded.

"So my joining Lagoon is really pretty common knowledge now?"

"Sorta, is it really true you guys fought a fucking helicopter? Or was jet, hmmm or something in the air."

"That's out in the open too?"

"It only takes one person." she replied with a 'that's just how it is' nod.

"True."

"Speak'n of one person, is Rebecca still stuck on PMS?"

"Yep." Rokuro sighed.

"Check this out," Victoria said as she lifted her shirt to Rokuro's panicked surprise, she pointed to a scar on her right side, "This was totally her a while back, but we just laugh about it now."

"What's that?" Rokuro asked, gesturing to the triangle branded on her stomach.

"Just a little scar from when I had my appendix removed." she replied quickly covering her skin.

Rokuro took another drag of his cigarette. Either twice is truly coincidence or she was lying.

"I'm really surprised at how good you look, I always figured Rebecca tried to shoot everyone at least once."

"Heh, she has, I was just lucky enough not to get hit."

The ebony woman raised her eyebrow and smirked, also wondering how true that information was.

A somewhat awkward silence fell between them, long enough for Rokuro to do away with what little was left with his cigarette. For few minutes they looked out onto the beach, watching the families and couples alike enjoying their afternoon.

"You used to live in Japan right?" Victoria asked without turning her head away from the beach.

"Yeah."

"Did you leave a girlfriend behind?"

He turned his head in surprise only find her eyes still gazing out at the ocean.

"No, I didn't."

"Hm."

"My day job left me kind of busy more often than not."

"What about Rebecca?"

"Huh?"

"Despite the homicidal tendency, you have to admit she's pretty hot."

"Are you normally this forward?"

"Nope."

"Even though this is the first time we've ever meet."

"I'm aware."

The Japanese male sighed as he slouched in his seat.

"I bet you're just one of those Asian guys that won't look at any other chick outside their race."

"..."

"Hey don't sweat it man, I'm the one com'n on to you."

"Perhaps you're just attracted to Asians because you've lived in China for too long."

"Touche."

Another, slightly more tense silence came between them. But this was shortly broken by the sound of Victoria pulling out her cellphone. She quickly sent off a text message before standing and stretching a little.

"Stewart tells me you guys hit it off pretty well, so I'll be around. Take it easy Rokuro." she said as she began to leave, throwing a small wave over her back before she was out of sight.

The ex-salary man pulled out another cigarette, but just stared out the waters without lighting it.

Not quite the first day out he imaged, but not necessarily unpleasant either.


End file.
